


in glowing favor, you’ll bloom

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Melancholy, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 00:06:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: Hercules wants to take him by the shoulders and ask him to kiss him. Aaron’s eyes flicker in the light like brown leaves with sunlight filtering through them; dark, warm, earthy, something hidden under the surface. Beautiful boy, all late autumn sun and chlorinated water. Enough to fill up a pool with.





	in glowing favor, you’ll bloom

**Author's Note:**

> title from redwoods by foxing
> 
> theres sex but marking it as explicit didnt feel right bc its not rly porn 
> 
> one day i will write happy fic maybe? anyway herc's autistic. terminology in the sex scenes is my personal preferred terminology but yea i do refer to herc's anatomy as a clit not a dick, soooo if thats a bad time for u then probably skip that or pretend i said dick instead (i do use dick for aaron)

Hercules means glorious hero. 

Sometimes he needs a reminder. Hercules. He writes this down. He looks at it for a long time; his own handwriting, the loopy letters, the neat cursive. 

It’s one of the things he likes about himself — attention to detail; the way he makes sure everything he does is perfect; just right. He wouldn’t call himself a perfectionist. He just likes things being right. He likes them neat, and pretty, and nice. Tidy. 

_Hercules_. He uncaps the pen and writes it down again, big block letters, and then again, tiny letters, and then again, and again. _Hercules. Glorious hero._

Glorious. He bites down on the end of the pen. He bounces the word between his cheeks in his mouth. It avoids the pen, goes cheek to cheek in a straight line. Glorious. From Latin. Worthy of admiration. Even outside of context that sounds appealing. He wants to be worthy. That sounds good. Admiration. Statues of gods dipped in gold and silver. If he stretches it he could get lovely out of it. Gentle. Sweet. 

_Hero_. He thinks about the two crescent moons under his pecs, raised slightly, lighter than the rest of his skin. He wonders if that counts. _Hero._ From Greek. He likes the associated words; warrior, courage, brave. He thinks about this one word at a time, one syllable at a time, one mouthful at a time. 

Sometimes he needs to remember. Sometimes he needs to know. Sometimes he’s not sure what he’s trying to remember, but usually he walks away feeling something new. 

Maybe that’s enough. 

—

Some part of his ribcage opens up slightly like a blooming flower the first time he meets Aaron. He’s quiet, much quieter than any of his friends. He’s not shy. He’s a little reserved, but in a way that’s hard to put a finger on to understand the motive, the meaning behind it. 

Some people are easy to read — Gilbert; John; all boyish energy, all hardened knuckles and haunted eyes, static energy strong enough to burn out the bar lights, enough to make your hair point straight up. They think they’re so cool, so hard to read, but they aren’t; the hunger almost tangible enough to taste, solid enough to touch or lean your body against. It’s amusing, almost, if it weren’t so heartbreaking watching them think they’re fooling anyone. 

Aaron isn’t like that. 

Hercules has a habit of taking people under his wing. There’s some part of him that wants to protect people he senses vulnerability in. He’s rowdy, maybe, some parts of him too big to fit in his body, like his joy or his laughter. John likes to tell him he should put his compassion on the list, too. He sees someone in need of something, anything, and he just can’t help himself. Gil always tells him he adopted him. Not that he needed to - he wasn’t in need of rescuing, he was doing fine, just - he’s that person that comes up to you to ask if you’re doing okay. Just because. Hercules files that under Things He Likes About Himself, tucked neatly between Neatness and Patience. 

And he doesn’t know why but he doesn’t know what to make of Aaron.

He catches his eye from across the bar — brown, like black walnut, a glimmer in them from the light — and his expression doesn’t waver. 

—

Aaron. _Teacher_. The name takes up a good amount of space in his mouth. It has room to bounce around between his teeth at the back of his mouth if it wants to. It doesn’t get stuck between them; he doesn’t have to pick it out; he can keep it on top of his tongue comfortably, all safe, neatly tucked away. All tidy and pretty. 

Aaron tells him that the greatest lesson is learning to smile when you’re at your worst. Aaron tells him that stuff about fake smiles making you feel better is bullshit but making the conscious choice to make yourself look unaffected pisses people off and sometimes that makes you feel better. Feeling vindicated is better than feeling awful, sometimes. Sometimes you gotta take a specific kind of shitty and turn it into something else, if not for any other reason then at least so you don’t get bored with it. Gotta keep yourself going some way. Any way.

Aaron has a habit of smiling when he’s upset. It’s amusing. It pisses people off, just like he said. Hercules doesn’t know how he does it. He feels sadness and anger with his whole body. He wonders if Aaron is just better at compartmentalizing, or if he doesn’t feel things as much, as big. He wonders if his feelings ever consume him like a tidal wave, if they ever catch him off guard. 

“If I let myself feel too much I can’t stop,” he says one night, half into his beer. Hercules never knows when he’s serious, but he looks plenty sincere right now. 

“Is that healthy?” Hercules asks. He’s got his own glass in his hand. He’s looking at Aaron, who’s looking at his hands. 

Aaron shrugs. “It works.”

Maybe that’s all it takes.

—

Hercules rarely worries about how he shows emotion. 

It’s always a whole body thing — loud happiness, visible delight, shaky tears, roaring laughter. John calls him a _fucking delight_. He doesn’t let people make him feel bad about it — he’s unapologetic about his happiness, his emotions, his right to express them, he’s finally reached the point where he can feel comfortable enough in his skin to not care about what anyone thinks. It took him a long time. Fuck if he’s going to compromise with some stranger about his right to feel emotions. 

He can’t help but notice the way Aaron watches him from the corner of his eye, all calculating and alert, like he’s trying to figure out what each reaction means, every movement of his lips, his eyebrows, the scrunch of his eyes, the sound of his laughter. 

He’s holding a bottle of beer in his hand, but he’s not drinking it. He’s got his fingers wrapped around it, carefully, delicately, just getting a feel of it. Something’s about to click. It’s the moment before the last rock sinks to the bottom of the pond.

— 

Sideways glances never mean anything except with Aaron. Casual shoulder touches never mean anything except with Aaron. Everything is so calculated. Not in a cold way, not in a manipulative way, just analyzed. Every bit of information scanned for importance, tucked away safely. 

Every sensory input is hypnotic; the smell of his cologne, the shape of his lips, the touch of his skin, or the fabric of his shirt, or the sharp scrape of his fingernails. His pressed shirts. His shiny shoes. 

Aaron likes to be sure. Hercules has never been entirely sure about anything before. Aaron looks at him, into his eyes, not at his nose like Hercules does, and he doesn’t worry about folding himself into two to make himself look more friendly. 

Hercules wants to take him by the shoulders and ask him to kiss him. Aaron’s eyes flicker in the light like brown leaves with sunlight filtering through them; dark, warm, earthy, something hidden under the surface. Beautiful boy, all late autumn sun and chlorinated water. Enough to fill up a pool with. 

—

There’s very little to say about it so he’ll make it short —

Aaron asks him for a light. He doesn’t smoke. Hercules doesn’t either. Aaron knows this. There’s some seconds of silence, both of them trying to read each other, get a good grasp of the other. 

Hercules leans down. Aaron tilts his head up. His mouth tastes like watermelon Lifesavers and he knows how to use his tongue. He takes Hercules’ hands and puts one over his cheek, cupping it. Hercules puts his other one on his shoulder and squeezes lightly. Aaron smiles slightly. 

That’s all it takes. For once, that’s all it takes.

—

Maybe he shouldn’t find him so alluring. Maybe he shouldn’t be so desperate for his approval. John’d made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with him, but then again John’s always been big on honesty and clear intentions. He doesn’t like not knowing what someone is thinking. He doesn’t like being deceived. Gilbert and John — he loves them to bits, they have so much in common, they’re built from the same mold, but they can be so suffocating sometimes. They can be so judgemental. Maybe he should listen to them. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe John and Aaron have more in common than he thinks; the need for security; the fear of uncertainty. w

Sideways glances. Shoulder touches. Is that enough?

— 

“Can I suck you?” Aaron asks. He’s already halfway between Hercules’ thighs, hands on his hips, shirt open. His nipples are dark peaks against his chest and Hercules can’t stop looking. 

“Hercules?”

“Hm?”

Aaron licks his stomach. “Can I suck you?” 

Hercules opens his mouth to answer, but finds it dry. 

“Please?” 

Hercules’ hips buck at that. He’s so hard he can feel himself twitching. He’s soaked through his boxers. “Yeah,” he coughs out, “please.” 

Aaron wastes no time sliding the rest of the way down, licking over him over his underwear, the drag of cotton rough over his sensitive skin. Aaron settles down with Hercules’ leg between his thighs, and when he grinds down on it Hercules can’t help but notice he’s dripping himself, the shape of his erect clit — his _dick_ — prominent through his underwear against his leg if he focuses on it, on the barest brush of it against his skin. He feels oddly proud. Like it’s an achievement. 

He pulls Hercules’ underwear down, and gently sucks him into his mouth. Hercules throws his head back as his whole body twitches. 

—

Glorious hero. Teacher. Aaron fucks him slow and deep and doesn’t let him touch him between his legs, except to brush his fingers over his clit, to rub him all feather light in his two fingered slick grip, enough to make him pant and whimper, soft little ‘ah, ah’ sounds, almost indistinguishable from his sharp breaths. Hercules wants so badly to make him feel good, at least as good as he makes him feel, but Aaron isn’t as okay with his body as he is, he wants to wait until Hercules is done to be touched and only then does he tilt his hips towards him, a fully formed request between his lips, under his tongue, behind his teeth.

It feels so good to be filled by him, the drag of the ridges against his walls, the tip of the toy dragging between his folds and against his clit the worst kind of tease, the thrusts making him gasp and shudder. He wishes he could make Aaron feel like this, so full, so important and useful, so unashamedly good, perfectly content for just a little bit. 

Aaron fucks him like it’s the only thing he wants to do, all deliberate movement and sweet kisses, and he isn’t rough by any means, but he does have a certain authority to his aura that makes Hercules, already prone to submission, want to please him, be good and sweet and lovely. 

And Aaron knows what he’s doing — every touch is deliberate, calculated, and Hercules squirms and pants and _feels_. 

It should be enough. He certainly feels like it is.

—

They meet over coffee. It’s their first time meeting outside the pub, and Aaron almost looks different in daylight. Younger. More ordinary. Hercules didn’t realize how mysterious he’d though Aaron was until he was presented with the ordinary, every day version of him. He looks so normal. Gorgeous, of course, still beautiful in his crisp button up and expertly groomed hair, but normal. Like a human. 

“Work’s been so hectic lately,” Aaron says like it’s a confession, and Hercules realizes he doesn’t even know what he does for a job. Aaron doesn’t know he made the clothes he’s wearing, and Hercules doesn’t know if Aaron has siblings, or how he likes his parents. It puts a thing in his throat. It keeps his name from being able to bounce in his mouth properly. 

“Yeah man,” he offers, past the lump in his throat, “I dunno what’s up with that. Everyone seems so busy with work right now.”

Aaron smiles. Hercules thinks it’s a genuine smile. He’s not sure, but maybe just the thought is enough.

It’s gotta be enough. 

—

Aaron doesn’t cry. He doesn’t notice this until a while later. 

He sobs, sometimes, so he knows he’s capable of it, the dry, heaving despair, but he doesn’t cry. His eyes stay dry. He doesn’t cry. Hercules doesn’t know how to feel about that, really, aside from the general fascination. Maybe he just cries when no one’s around, though his body language, his involuntary reactions seem to indicate otherwise. 

Maybe Aaron’s just had a long time to perfect his reactions to only show what he wants to show others. Maybe he’s had a long time to figure out how vulnerable he can be until it gets him hurt. Hercules doesn’t think he’s found that balance yet. Maybe Aaron has. Maybe he’s overcompensating. He wouldn’t know, and he’s not about to ask. 

—

Aaron’s got four fingers to the third knuckle in him when he blurts it out:

“Dude,” he rasps, “don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Aaron freezes, confused. “What?”

“Trying so hard.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, but he does take his fingers out. Hercules wants to whine, a little bit, but he doesn’t think it’d be appropriate right now. He does try to grind on them, almost subconscious. Aaron inspects his hand. He seems to know exactly what Hercules is talking about. Maybe he’s used to it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says finally. 

He does know. Hercules can tell. He can also tell that Aaron knows that Hercules knows, and he fucks him harder than usual that night, something more vulnerable, more open in his eyes, plastered all over his face, limbs shaking. 

He doesn’t call after that, and Hercules doesn’t think he expected anything else. 

—

Hero. He doesn’t feel very heroic, with or without his scars. Everywhere he looks are Aaron’s dark eyes. When he gets himself off at night he feels the ghost of Aaron’s fingers in him, the wet heat of his mouth around his clit. When he goes out for drinks with Gil and John, and Alex too, now, he finds himself scanning the crowd, distracted, heart jumping every time he thinks he sees Aaron. He’s never there anymore.

Maybe he will come back. Hercules pushes the needle through the fabric, again and again. Maybe he will get to apologize. Maybe, he thinks, it’d be enough. 

—

The winter passes and so do the emotions. He makes his peace with it. He sees him in his dreams, sometimes, the Aaron he might have gotten to know had he given him time. They used to make him cry for reasons he isn’t sure about, but now they barely make him feel anything. It’s okay. It wasn’t meant to be. No point crying over it now. 

He wonders, sometimes, if he was wrong about Aaron the whole time. His calculating eyes. Maybe he was seeing significance where there was none. Maybe his empathy got the best of him again. There’s just so many maybes.

—

April.

The coffee shop is empty. 

Aaron sits down next to him. Hercules recognizes his cologne before he looks at his face. 

He looks the same he did a few months back. Well groomed, put together — gorgeous face; freshly pressed clothes; not a single eyebrow hair out of place. He’s not convinced a stranger would be able to tell with certainty whether he’s a real person. He’s so angelic. 

He waits in silence. Aaron doesn’t as much as sigh. 

“I do,” Aaron says finally. 

Hercules looks at him from the corner of his eye.

“I do get tired.” Aaron doesn’t cry. In fact, there’s almost no obvious emotion in his eyes, just a careful neutral expression. Hercules puts his hand over his and squeezes gently. Aaron looks at him, finally, and there’s something new in his eyes. Nothing big. Just something a touch more vulnerable. Something genuine. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in a bit. 

It’s not enough. Maybe it could be. Aaron walks out, coffee in hand, and Hercules stays inside. He doesn’t chase after him. Aaron doesn’t leave him his new phone number. 

Glorious hero. He writes it down on his napkin, neat and tidy. Glorious hero. He doesn’t feel anything new. Maybe that’s just how it is sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ johniaurens.tumblr.com


End file.
